Numb
by Fascinatingcircle
Summary: Sometimes, a hunger for power and potential for amusement isn't enough to gain a Daedric Prince's favor. Heavily implied rape. Title will soon change. Alternate Timeline
1. Chapter 1

I'd always been fascinated by the Daedra, so when I overheard the Vigilant talking to some Nord brute about his suspicions of Daedric worship going on in one of the abandoned houses, I'd happily gone in there with him, acting as if I wanted to help him root out any of the worshipers. A simple illusion made him think I was a taller Breton woman in expensive robes, rather than a 15 year old Breton girl in ratty peasants clothing. He gladly accepted my help while I thought of the few different ways I could kill him should I be lucky enough to meet a Prince in order to gain his favor.

I hadn't expected Molag Bol. The moment I reached for that rusted mace, my hand became trapped in spikes that looked nearly as wicked as the weapon. I couldn't move very far, and my connection to my Magicka seemed to blocked - something I didn't know was even possible. I looked back at the Vigilant, hoping for help, but the only thing I saw on his face was a smirk.

He spoke to me. I remember that, but I don't remember what it was he had said exactly. He called me his daughter, I think. He claimed that my blood was already unique, and he wanted to see what would happen if it was changed. The last thing I remember of that night was laying on the ground, numb, as he wiped his blood on my forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

The Vigilant had stopped breathing by the time she woke up. There weren't any gaping wounds, so she assumed he had died either when he was possessed or when Molag Bol left his body. He smelled awful, but she couldn't find any reason to get away from him.

She tried making sense of what had happened. That _was _Molag Bol. She recognized the Mace from some of the more taboo stories she'd been told by her mother before her passing a few years before. If that hadn't made it obvious, anyone who knew anything about the various Princes and their behavior would have been able to guess by now.

The spikes guarding the Mace had retracted by now, offering the weapon to her as if it were some prize for surviving in the demon's presence. She blinked, feeling as if she wanted to tear up before noticing an unfamiliar sensation on her forehead. Touching it with an index finger revealed something crusted on it, and a fingernail came away with a dark red substance. Blood. Blood that had belonged to Molag Bol when it was placed on her. What was it for? She remembered him mentioning that she was meant as some sort of experiment, and blood was used in many magical rituals, though any ritual that required the blood of a Daedric Prince would be too dangerous for nearly anyone to desire keeping a written record of it. There would be very few opportunities for it to even happen, ever since St. Alessia helped seal off the planes of Oblivion.

She cast a simple Restoration spell on herself, meant only to find wounds and signs of various diseases, only to jolt in shock from her place on the ground. She was dead! There was no doubt about that. Her heart was no longer pumping and her blood was... different. Certainly no longer what it had been before. She'd once come across the still cooling corpse of a Nord and had used her spell on him to study the differences between their races before the guards found him and took him to the Hall of the Dead, discovering that her blood was much more potent than his. Most likely a result of her Elven ancestry. Now, though, it was changed. Stronger, somehow. It was still recognizable as hers under close scrutiny, but now it held a trace of something undoubtedly Daedric in origin. With difficulty, she managed to examine the old blood still under her fingernail, and found that it was very similar to her own.

She had been changed into Molag Bol's daughter? Interesting. And highly disturbing. More important than that for the moment was her undead state. She'd finally realized what she was. Vampire, however, didn't seem like a proper name for what she was. It was true, perhaps, but didn't truly encompass how drastically different she was compared to before she'd entered this abandoned building. Daughter of Coldharbour perhaps? She'd work on it.

She looked back to the Vigilant's corpse, flinching at the sight. His face may have been completely blank, she could still see that infernal smirk, and feel his hands grabbing her. She grabbed her clothes, finally remembering her nude state, pulling them on as quickly as she could. She had to leave. Not sparing the elf or the Mace a glance, she stumbling up the narrow stairway and out of the building. It was night out, thankfully, and she scurried through the shadows toward a secluded portion of the city's stream, stripped, and lowered herself in. Grimacing, she forced herself to channel her magic into the water and into herself, drawing out the Vigilant's seed. She didn't look as she set it on fire. She'd never been very good with destruction magic, but she had more than enough willpower to vaporize that.


End file.
